


The creation and establishment of 'Holiday'

by nothereforlong



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holiday Season, Holidays, ok I lied there's angst now, people are happy and no one has been banished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothereforlong/pseuds/nothereforlong
Summary: A series of (mostly) fluffy holiday- and winter-themed oneshots for the month of December, because things on the smp are lookin Tragic rn and we could all use a little cheer.ch. 1: Tommy returns from mining to find the obsidian walls of L'manburg strung up in lights, and general chaos roaming free. What are Quackity and Karl doing on Fundy's roof?ch. 2: In the cover of Pogtopia's cold stone walls, three boys write to their father about the impeding conflict of the revolution's final battle.ch. 3: Set in the same universe as my other work, The Dangers of Endermen and Other Strange Creatures. Ranboo discovers snow for the first time.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	1. Decorations

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I was going to work more on The Dangers of Endermen and Other Strange Creatures, but I want that story to be more sort of canon-compliant and the dream smp canon has sort of been... a lot, recently. So, this! I love stories about camaraderie and general group bonding, so these oneshots are gonna be much less like canon dream smp and much more like an idealistic dream smp where people are slightly nicer and there's a bit less general war and bloodshed.
> 
> Also, the 'Holiday' in these stories is going be sort of modeled off of Christmas, simply because that's the only winter holiday I know in sufficient enough detail to write about.

Tommy makes his way back from his newly-constructed mine, coated in a thin layer of light grey stone dust and shivering slightly from the cold. There seemed to be a constant frigid dampness in tunnels that ran deep under the ground, like there was water trapped in the rough stone walls. Tommy had barely even noticed that his shirt was nearly soaked through until he was smacked in the face by a stiff, chilly breeze upon exiting. Now, he was trudging wearily back to L’manburg. He was cold, wet, kind of hungry, and his arms were sore from swinging his pickaxe.

Now, mining wasn’t on the top of Tommy’s priorities. Slaving away in some dark hole where he had to crouch constantly so his head didn’t collide with the bowed-in ceiling was _not_ Tommy’s idea of a good time. Unfortunately Dream had decided to be a little bitch, and Tommy had no other choice.

Ok, so maybe Tommy had decided to burn down George’s house, which is how he had gotten himself in this predicament, but _still._ It was right unfair, is what it was. Tommy hadn't _meant_ to get so carried away with the arson, and Dream’s request seemed unreasonable. An entire large chest full of emeralds? That was 54 stacks of emeralds, 64 emeralds per stack. Tommy wasn’t great with math, but Tubbo had told him that equaled to 3,456 emeralds. Why did Dream even need that many emeralds? Does _anyone_ need that many emeralds?

Tommy was also pissed at Techno. Not just as runoff anger from the whole ‘betrayal’ thing (though Tommy was still quite bitter about that) but because the bastard had refused to give Tommy any leftover emeralds from his hefty War Supplies stash.

“You did the crime, Tommy.” Techno had said with a laugh. “You gotta live with the consequences. I can’t just give you an easy out, that would defeat the point of even havin’ a punishment in the first place!” That man had no sense of sympathy. Or empathy. Or any other words that end in ‘-pathy’. He was pathy-less

Except maybe sociopathy. Tommy was pretty sure he had that.

Either way, here Tommy was, on one of the coldest months in the year, treading wearily against the wind with a fuck-ton of emeralds in his pockets.

Tommy began to notice something odd as he approached the obsidian walls surrounding L’manburg. (Dream agreed to not wage any more wars, but he refused to take the walls down himself. Tubbo had merely sighed and said he’d assemble a team early spring when the weather wasn’t so bad. For now they stayed, ugly and purple but sort of familiar. After all, old L’manburg had walls as well. Most of the residents were used to it.)

As Tommy grew nearer he saw what was so off about the walls. Was that- was that _ribbon?_

It was! The whole wall had been strung with it, thick, red and gold ribbons hung down in arcs from the top of the wall, for as far as Tommy could see. Tiny balls of light seemed to adorn the obsidian as well. Tommy had no idea what they were, but they looked a bit like very small lanterns, all strung up in a row.

When Tommy pushed himself through the hastily-carved entrance through the walls, he was greeted with a sight that was even more bizarre. Various L’manburgian citizens were out and about, seemingly unfazed by the icy wind and swiftly-setting sun. Niki was tying the bow on a ribbon wrapped around a mailbox. Quackity and Karl were sitting on the roof of Fundy’s house, trying their best to affix a string of the odd, tiny lights to the awning whilst arguing with Fundy, who was leaning out the window.

“No, you imbeciles, that’s uneven! Move the right side up more. It’s- no, your other right!” Fund exclaimed, ears folded back with mild frustration and a fuzzy hand gesturing to the assumed problem.

“Well why don’t you come up here and do it yourself then?” Quackity grunted with exasperation as he and Karl attempted to even out the little glowing orbs.

Tubbo and Ranboo seemed to be having a more collaborative process, but they were struggling just as much as Karl and Quackity. Ranboo was perched wobilly on top of Tubbo’s shoulders, reaching his long enderman-like arms to a high-up spot on the new White House’s wall. Instead of lights, Ranboo seemed to be holding thin snowflakes carved out of pale birchwood. He and Tubbo were attaching the snowflakes in swirly, windblown patterns all across the outer walls of the whitehouse.

“What is all this?” Tommy exclaimed loudly, to no one in particular.

Tubbo, who was closest to Tommy, visibly startled and whirled around to face him. Ranboo gave out a little, screechy yelp as he was knocked off balance, and he nearly fell off Tubbo's shoulders before catching himself on the side of the White House.

“Sorry!” Tubbo apologised with a grimace, before turning his attention back to Tommy. “We’re decorating!”

“I can see that, big man.” Tommy glanced about at the strangely idyllic scene. Niki had finished with her mailbox and picked up a conversation with Puffy, and Eret had joined Fundy in shouting advice to a still-struggling Karl and Quackity. “My question is _why_ are you decorating?”

“For Holiday!” Tubbo said enthusiastically.

Tommy let out a bark of laughter. “Which holiday?”

“Just, you know, Holiday! It’s the month of Holiday!”

“It was Ghostbur’s idea, but he can’t remember what it’s called so we’re just calling it Holiday,” Ranboo supplied helpfully from his perch. He still had one hand on the wall, as if he didn’t trust Tubbo not to make any more sudden movements.

“Well that’s stupid. You can’t just call a holiday ‘Holiday’. That’s like- that’s like calling…” Unable to find a proper comparison, Tommy instead opted to turn his attention towards a coil of the strange, stringed lights that were sitting on the ground a few feet away. 

Walking over, he leaned down and picked up the strand, bringing it closer to his face to examine. Somehow, someone (probably Fundy) managed to trap individual licks of flame inside of tiny glass spheres. Tommy watched enraptured as the flames danced, fluctuating between various shades of yellow and orange with an almost magical flair. “Where did you even get these?”

“Fundy made them,” Tubbo replied. He and Ranboo had resumed their previous task. Ranboo’s hands once again full of wooden snowflakes. He must have dropped them when Tubbo startled.

Tommy sat down on the steps of the white house, kicking his feet in the dirt. In all the excitement and curiosity, he had forgotten how so very cold he was. And how dusty. And how damp. Tommy was actually feeling quite miserable, really. Screw Dream and his stupid fucking emeralds.

“Why are we decorating for- uh, for Holiday, again?” he asked.

“Ghostbur says he has good memories about it. Thought it might be nice to do something fun for a change, something festive,” Tubbo answered, his voice muffled as he and Ranboo had moved around the corner to work on the side of the White House.

Some festivity might actually be nice, Tommy thinks. With all the war and conflict, a respite was more than appealing. Tommy was a little apprehensive, however - whatever ‘holiday’ Ghostbur was remembering must have been something Wil, Techno, and Phil had celebrated before Tommy came into the picture, because he couldn’t remember anything of the sort.

Well, now that he really thought about it, Tommy could see bits and pieces - fragmented memories from when he was a very young child. Bright, warm lights. Sweet drinks that burned his tongue. Laughter, singing, some sort of gift-giving event. Candy. Tommy wondered what the holiday was called - it couldn’t actually be just ‘Holiday’ - and why they had stopped celebrating it.

At least Tubbo was intent on bringing it back.

Tommy heaved himself up off the steps, dusted his jeans (which didn’t do much as his hands were still covered in grime), and dropped the glass lights back in their coil, making his way back to his own house.

“Hey, you wanna come back and help us decorate later?” Tubbo called after him.

Tommy turned and surveyed the scene around him. Eret had migrated over to Niki and Puffy, and they were all standing in a circle and laughing good-naturedly at some inside joke. Quackity was dangling a fearful-but-guilty-looking Karl over the edge of Fundy’s roof, spewing spanish curses that were rapidly growing in intensity. From the shattered glass and the singe marks spotting the edge of the roof and Quackity’s hoodie, Tommy could guess what had happened. Fundy had disappeared, presumably to make more lights to replace the broken ones. The chaos made Tommy smile.

“Sure, big man!” he called back.


	2. Letters

In a cold, dark ravine in the dead of winter, three boys write to their father. One is desperate. One is worried. One is just asking for help. The lamplight flickers as wind whistles against the rocks. The weather is unforgiving, and the world outside is a picture of grey and snowy hopelessness. The world inside isn’t much better.

_Hey Phil,_

_Winter is here. It’s cold and dreary, like always. Snow, wind - you know how it is. Little progress has been made on the revolutionary side of things, but I’m not surprised. Things never do seem to work out for me in the end. Never. It’s just me and Tommy and Techno here in this wretched cave we now call home. I can’t sleep anymore; the wind at night howls and screams like a monster being dragged into the pits of hell. I might not mind being dragged into the pits of hell myself. At least it’s warm down there. There's nothing but coldness up here - from the frigid wind to the icy people, it’s like you can catch hypothermia on this server simply by existing. I’m so cold. I’m always so cold…_

The words seem to trail off. When they pick back up, the ink is a slightly different color - as if the letter’s author didn’t continue writing until several hours later, and is now using a different pen.

_Tommy doesn't believe in me anymore, Phil. I thought he did. I thought that Tommy would always believe in me. He’s my younger brother, for fuck’s sake! He’s supposed to have my back! He’s supposed to trust me. He knows I’ll never hurt him. He must know. I saw harsh things sometimes, but I’m only trying to protect him. Protect him from the dangerous, slimy lies of friendship and idealism. He trusts anyone that deigns to say a kind word to him. Think of all the trouble that could get him into! I don’t mean to be mean when I tell him he can’t ever become president. I’m just trying to be honest. The boy deserves some honesty, at the very least. No one else is honest with him. Not Dream, not Schlatt, not even Tubbo. No one is honest with me anymore either, it seems. If they ever were honest to begin with._

_I no longer have a son, Phil._

_I have to get rid of it. It all has to go - it’s built on lies, and deception, and we’ll never win no matter how hard we try. L’manburg - the_ real _L’manburg, the_ good _L’manburg - is gone. The land must go to. The buildings, the memories, the history, every little splinter of wood and scrap of paper must burn._

_And it will_

_I have plans for the 16th. Tommy is fighting his grand revolutionary final battle then, and I want to indulge him just a little. He’s still a child, and he’s idealistic and innocent enough to think that you can fight for what you believe in and win. Perhaps it makes me an irresponsible older brother, but I want to let him live in that fantasy for just one day._

_The tnt will shock him back into reality right enough anyway. Maybe it’s a cruel teaching method, but at least it’ll be effective. Tommy must learn. Tommy has to learn._

_Are you proud of me Phil? I like to think that you are. I’m having to make some difficult decisions when it comes to dealing with Manburg, but I think they’re the right decisions. I think they’re decisions you can be proud of. I’m doing the right thing. I know I am._

_Your favorite son,_

_Wilbur._

In a large side cave, tucked between the leafy green stems of two potato plans, a second boy writes.

_Phil,_

_Winter has blown in recently. The snow is so thick that I feel like I’m in the Antarctic Empire again. Do you remember those days? Those were good days._

_I’m worried about Wilbur. He seems to slide further into anarchy and violence each day, and I don’t think my presence is helping. You know I don’t like to admit to feeling things, and I know you don’t mind my own anarchic nature, it’s just… well, the one thing you’ve always told us is to be true to ourselves, and I don’t think Wilbur is being true to himself anymore. I don’t know if Wilbur even knows who his true self_ is _anymore._

_Tommy is just like he’s always been, though. The dead, grey walls of Pogtopia don’t seem to dampen his spirits like they do Wilbur’s. Plus, he has Tubbo to depend on. Or, well, had._

_Tommy doesn’t like me very much anymore, Phil. I can’t say I blame him._

_Please, write to Wil. You’re the only one who can get through to him._

_Your favorite son,_

_Techno._

The last letter is written in the black of night, when the other two residents of the ravine are curled up in restless, fitful sleep, dreaming of their demons.

_Phil I need your help._

_Something’s gotten into Wilbur._

_He’s cold, and he’s angry, and he’s got this_ look _in his eyes, like he’s already lost all hope. He can’t lose hope, Phil. We’re so close! We’re so close to getting L’manburg back. The final stand is on the 16th. I’ve been preparing the best I can - I try to spar with Techno as much as possible, but he's usually out “collecting resources” or some shit. I almost never see Wil anymore. I don’t know if he’s avoiding me specifically or people in general, but it hurts. I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him, cause if I talk to him, maybe I can convince him that everything will be alright. He’s still got the tnt, but if we win on the 16th he doesn’t have to use it. He says he’ll only use it as a last resort, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that. If he blows up L’manburg, it will be over my cold, dead body._

_Which I’m starting to worry is something he might do. Do you think Wil might kill me, Phil? He won’t, right?_

The ink becomes blotchy and some letters run together, as if something is dripping water into the path of the pen as it writes.

_He’s my brother. He’s supposed to love me. He_ does _love me, even if he doesn’t always show it. He would never hurt me, not in a hundred years._

_I don’t think he’s my brother anymore, though. His eyes are cold and lifeless, and his words are cold too, and he’s spiraled into some sort of state of insanity. I don’t know what to do. Wilbur,_ My _Wilbur, wouldn’t hurt me. But I’m starting to think this Wilbur might._

_I’m scared._

The last letter was never signed. Perhaps it was forgotten about, or perhaps something happened to the author to prevent them from finishing it. It doesn’t matter either way, as none of the letters are sent. They sit, tucked unread in the bottom of a half-filled chest for over a month.

When the inked words finally see daylight, it is in the grasp of shaking, translucent hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering making all these oneshots connected, so the events of this chapter and the subsequent discovery of the letters may come into play later.


	3. Shoveling Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot is set in roughly the same universe as my other work, The Dangers of Endermen and Other Strange Creatures, but you don't need to have read Dangers of Endermen to understand it - it just provides some more background as to the whole "Ranboo used to live in caves" thing.

Ranboo awoke to a pale, feeble light streaming through his bedroom window. The air was still and strangely silent, the general bustling noises of L’manburg absent. There was no soft morning chatter, no rolling of carts out to the marketplace or vibrant laughter between the more morning-inclined citizens. Ranboo, curious at the pervasive quietness, ignored the protests of his sleep-addled brain and wandered into his front room.

The smooth wooden floors were exceptionally chilly this morning, and Ranboo shivered as he lit the lanterns sitting about the main room. The house he was currently staying at was borrowed from Ghostbur, who was kind enough to lend Ranboo one of the for-sale houses in L’manburg. It was small but cozy, nestled between two other houses and just a short walk to L’manburg’s open market. Once Ranboo had gathered sufficient funds, he was planning on purchasing the quaint place for himself.

Ranboo couldn’t see much out the house’s main windows - they were glazed over with a crystallized white film, letting in just enough of the outside world to cast the room in a mix of warm orange lantern light and washed-out grey sunlight. It was earlier than Ranboo normally woke, but the peculiar atmosphere of the early morning intrigued him, and he thought he might as well go say hi to Niki seeing as he was already up. She was often awake early, working in her bakery. 

After donning his usual formal attire (Tommy teased Ranboo for wearing a suit at practically all times, Ranboo argued back that he was very comfortable, thank you very much. In reality the suit had become part of Ranboo’s outer image, and it felt weird to wear anything else), Ranboo headed for the door with a touch of cheeriness. He was excited to get outside and enjoy the quiet morning. He was already making plans to swing by the bakery, and help Niki with the bread dough - she was usually making it this time of day.

Ranboo’s plans immediately hit a blockade, however. A blockade in the form of Ranboo’s front door, which refused to open. 

Ranboo leaned heavily on the door, then, when that failed, slammed his shoulder into it. He did not succeed in gaining exit from the house, but he _did_ succeed in gaining a sore shoulder. 

Ranboo sat back, considering his options, when the white substance covering the windows glimmered, catching his eye. _Ah, yes,_ Ranboo thought. _The windows!_

Ranboo had never opened the windows himself before, but he knew they worked. Walking over to the one on the left of the door, he studied the latch. It looked simple enough. The ceiling of the main room was quite tall, and the windows were relatively high off the ground as well. Even with his excessive height, Ranboo had to pull over a chair to get proper leverage.

When he finally succeeded in flinging the window open, Ranboo was smacked in the face by a wave of frigid air. It had been quite chilly out recently, due to it being winter and all, but this was something new. Eager to finally get out of the house and start on his morning plans, Ranboo shoved himself out the opening a little too aggressively, flailing his long limbs as he fell out his window in a way that was definitely very dignified. Instead of colliding with hardened dirt, like he expected, Ranboo fell face-first into a much softer substance, sinking in about a foot deep.

The first and only thing Ranboo’s brain could register for a few seconds after impact was _Cold cold cold oh my god cold._ Whatever substance Ranboo had fallen into, it was one of the coldest things he ever felt. It had an almost sand-like consistency, but it was frigid like ice and seemed to melt away where he touched it. Ranboo then realized that it literally was melting away, as he felt an unpleasant layer of water gather on his skin. _God,_ Ranboo hated water.

After a small amount of floundering, Ranboo was finally able to surface himself. The sight that met his eyes was so extraordinary he temporarily forgot about the cold.

Laid out before him was L’manburg, but every surface open towards the sky was covered in a layer of the same substance Ranboo was sitting in. The pale winter sunlight bounced off white crystals, sparkling with little spots of light and color. The entire world was serene and untouched, the clear resounding silence sitting over the houses like a blanket-

Wait a minute, what was that noise? Was someone laughing? Wait, was someone laughing at _him?_

Turning to his right, Ranboo spotted Fundy, knee-deep in the cold white crystals and near-doubled over with laughter.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes with a glove-covered hand. “ _Oh my god,_ you just fell out of the window with your arms- with your arms flapping like you thought could fly or something! And you landed head first in the snow! If only you could see the look on your face, it was like your enti- your enti-” Fundy stopped to catch his breath, still wheezing slightly. “It looked like your entire life flashed before your eyes.”

“Is that what this is?” Ranboo asked, wrinkling his nose at the freezing white powder as he attempted to clammer out of the hole he made for himself.

“What what is?”

“Snow. I’ve- I’ve heard of it before, I think. Never actually experienced it though.” Ranboo replied.

Fundy was laughing again, his valiant attempts at catching his breath proven fruitless. “Wait, you’ve never seen _snow_ before?”

“Wasn’t expecting it to be this cold,” Ranboo said, shaking the excess off his arms as he stood up. “Or this wet.”

Ranboo had fully extracted himself from the snow by the time Fundy calmed down enough to talk. “Yeah,” the man agreed, twitching his ears. “I mean, snow is literally just frozen water. It’s like rain, but solid. And colder. It snowed quite a bit last night actually, there must have been a storm.”

Ranboo looked around at where Fundy was gesturing, and realized that he was right. The snow seemed to be almost two feet high in some places. There was a huge pile of it outside Ranboo’s door, which explains why it wouldn’t open before. 

“I had the same problem.” Fundy commiserated, following Ranboo’s gaze. “The window actually was a good idea - it’s what I ended up doing as well. I didn’t fall out of it like a baby bird kicked from its mother’s nest, though.”

Ranboo grumbled to himself and kicked at the snow, instantly regretting it when his foot got lodged in between two of the more icy patches. Fundy thankfully didn’t comment, merely continuing on with his original train of thought.

“We’re gonna have to shovel the doorways so people can get in and out of their houses. I think there’s some shovels in the shed back behind the White House.”

Ranboo followed Fundy’s lead amicably, but he still voiced his original morning plans to visit Niki.

“I was planning on doing her house first anyway,” Fundy responded. “She always makes me extra cookies when I shovel out the entrance to her bakery.”

Agreeing on the plan, the two pulled out some old shovels and headed towards Niki’s place. She was more than happy to see them, and was quite grateful for their help. When subjected to Fundy’s puppy dog eyes, she merely laughed and promised to bake them something as a thanks for their assistance. 

Once the bakery was cleared, the two moved on to the other residences of L’manburg. They were shoveling out Phil’s yard (He was currently visiting Techno out in the arctic, Ranboo suggested they clear out a path to his house anyway out of courtesy) when Fundy asked Ranboo about the snow.

“You’ve really never seen it before? Ever? It happens pretty regularly in the winter here, how could you have missed it?”

Ranboo answered after some contemplation. “Well, I would always sort of hunker down in the caves system during the wintertime. I spent most of my time underground anyway, before I joined L’manburg, and It usually rained a lot earlier in the winter. Early spring, too - I learned it was best to just avoid the season entirely.” 

“So you just stayed in underground caves for months on end?” Fundy glanced at him briefly, before returning to his work. “That sounds sort of lonely.”

“It was.”

Conversation lulled after that, but the silence was comforting. Fundy began to hum a tune that Ghostbur would sometimes sing, and the two moved on to the next house soon after.

It was quite lonely, Ranboo reflected while scooping snow out of Karl’s front yard. The isolation was his choice, but he was never really happy with it. The caves were warmer than above ground, and the roughly-hewn stone walls blocked out the whistling wind and the awful, awful torrents of rain. They also blocked out the sunlight, and sound of laughter, and the joy of the outside world and the people who lived there. The silence of the winter months spent underground was suffocating, and was such a stark contrast to the serene, beautiful silence that came with snowy mornings like the one he was currently sharing with Fundy. Ranboo never minded it before, but the longer he resides in L’manburg the more he realizes how empty the caves were without anyone else to share them with.

As he and Fundy grab cookies from Niki’s bakery later that day, a sweet, fresh-baked reward for finishing their task, Ranboo decides that he is really quite grateful for cold, snowy mornings.


End file.
